My good wife was out for the day being a photographer and I was home alone with the sprogs.
This, I believe, saved her.
Usually my being alone with the kids goes poorly at some point but this time I was on fire: everyone was fed and dressed and most were playing with Lego. Even the beds were made.
I was making myself a congratulatory Vegemite sandwich in the kitchen when Miss2 came up behind me and tugged on my shirt. She was looking up at me and holding out a plastic knife with peanut butter on the end.
“How did you…?” I stammered.
The peanut butter hadn’t been out since breakfast, and I know it was put away because, despite being given the all clear from his peanut allergy, Master9 still gets a worrying look on his face whenever he sees the jar.
Unlike my wife I’m not a huge peanut butter fan, but there was so much of the stuff on the end of the knife I would have switched to a peanut butter sandwich if I hadn’t already started spreading the Vegemite. I’ll tell you something else, I don’t think Tracey would have hesitated to simply shove that plastic knife in her mouth because now that we’re allowed peanut butter in the house she’s been insatiable.
“Where’s the jar?” I asked my youngest daughter. “Where’s the peanut butter jar?” She looked at me with a questioning expression, seemingly not understanding what I was asking. I pointed at the knife. “Where did you get this?”
Still clutching the knife she ran off into the lounge room.
It was then that I noticed she had no nappy on. Or undies. Or pants. And it was then that I suspected I’d just avoided what could have been the worst fathering moment of my life.
“Shit!” I said, running after her.
When I entered the lounge room my suspicions were confirmed when my nostrils were suddenly assaulted by a wall of foul smell. It was like being slapped in the face with a turd. Ahead of me, Miss2 bent and picked something off the floor before turning and handing me an even bigger glob of ‘peanut butter’ than the one which had been on her plastic knife.
Worse, she’d clearly been using the plastic knife to cut, dice and spread the ‘peanut butter’ around the room.
And over the next twenty minutes, as I cleaned and cussed, it occurred to me that allowing peanut butter back into the house is fraught with more perils than I initially anticipated, especially as we attempt to toilet train our littlest munchkin.
To test my theory on how lucky my wife was, this morning I dug out a glob of peanut butter with a plastic spoon and had Miss2 deliver it to her mum while I watched from the sink. With a very satisfied expression, which would not have been there yesterday, Tracey shoved it in her mouth.
“I love peanut butter,” said my wife. “I could eat it every day.”
Whereas I’m thinking I may never risk eating the stuff again.
🙂 please share 🙂
“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”